Out of the Ashes

Voldemort won the First Wizard War and rules Britain with an iron fist. In a world without freedom, a small band of wizards fights to regain what was lost. Can they succeed? Non-canon compliant. Very AU! No Horcruxes and no prophecy. Almost nothing is used from the books, except for the occasional spells and some background for Voldemort and other characters, because this takes place in a very alternative timeline, so characters will behave with more extreme behavior than in the books. This is your only warning, so don't complain that this didn't happen in the books, it's an extremely dark time where evil triumphed over good, though it's not without hope, as those who remain struggle to make a life out of the ashes of the old.

1

From the Ashes, a Spark Arises

8th month, Year 18, AV

New calendar:

The rubble of what had once been his home still smoked as he crested the hill, his carryall bumping against his shoulder, filled with the meager packages of tinned beef, noodles, bread, and some limp carrots he had managed to glean from the food ration line in town that day. It was barely enough for three people, let alone seven of the Weasleys who remained after the culling eight years before, but it was better than starving. Eight years ago, they had lost Bill, Charlie, and Percy to the culling, they were marched away, never to be seen again at the Burrow. Rumor had it that Bill and Charlie had gone to the mines and Percy had made some kind of deal with Lord Voldemort's toadies and was working in the upper levels of the Palace, which had once been known as the Ministry of Magic, before the Dark Times. But it was forbidden to speak of the days before, a new world had arose on the day Lord Voldemort had taken the Ministry and overthrew the defunct republic along with its great leaders, like Dumbledore and Minerva McGonagall, Lily and James Potter, Eileen Prince-Snape and her son and daughter-in-law, Severus and Emmalyn. Most had died in the overthrow, or else been tortured to death in the 13th dungeon far below the palace complex. Although there were rumors that Severus Snape had survived, but no one had ever confirmed them, and if anyone was caught speculating on traitors to the New Order, they would be immediately arrested for causing dissension and treason and sentenced to death.

Ron Weasley stared at the smoking remains of his once cozy home and struggled to contain the horror within him. His home was ashes, his family dead. He knew just by looking that nothing could have remained alive in the remains. He rubbed his eyes, which burned from the smoke and unshed tears. A Reaping. That's what this was. A Reaping and they sent in dragons to do it. Because nothing but dragonfire burns as hot.

Ron curled his hands about his middle, his stomach threatened to come up as he imagined his mother, sister, and brothers, caught unaware, their last sight that of dragons swooping from the sky and breathing their white hot breath upon the Burrow. He shut his eyes, coughing from the acrid stench. Why? Why had this happened?

They had been careful, or at least Ron thought they had, to keep Arthur Weasley's secret, that he refurbished Muggle tools and objects and sold them on the black market to Muggles for cash. It was the only way he could provide for his family after losing his job at the Ministry. He was proscribed, meaning that no wizard business of the New Order would hire him, because he was a blood traitor, a lover of Mudbloods and Muggles. The Order allowed them a food allotment and also a clothing allowance, and the twins, Ron, and Ginny were required to attend an Order school. All their wands were Traced, even the adults, and no magic beyond basic spells were allowed to be used at home. Had Arthur finally been indiscreet and that was why they had been selected for a Reaping?

Ron would never know now. All he knew was that he was an orphan, since Percy, if he lived, had been disowned by their father. Abruptly, he realized something else. A Reaping took all members of a family, except those disinherited. Which meant they knew he was still alive. Alive, and now marked for death. Panicked, he looked up at the sky. He saw nothing, no shadow of wings, no glint of flame. Still, that meant nothing. They wouldn't bother sending the Dragon Corps for one measly sixteen-year-old boy. But they could send a Death Squad. And a Death Squad would hunt him until they or he was dead.

Despite the heat emanating from the rubble, Ron felt a cold chill run down his spine. He heard a crack of a branch and spun around, his wand raised, trying to recall a spell the twins had been fond of, that would replicate himself. It would buy him time to run into the woods, where he had hidden his old Cleansweep, and hopefully fly away. But his tongue was frozen to the roof of his mouth and he could not utter a syllable, even if he'd been able to recall the incantation.

Four dark shapes emerged from the wheat field behind the Burrow's remains, they wore the dark robes and silver masks of a Death Squad. Once the grotesque masks had been to hide their identity as Death Eaters, but now they merely used them to terrorize their victims before they killed them.

Ron was plenty terrified. He stared uncomprehending as the dark wizards advanced on him. A part of his mind was screaming, Run, you stupid fool! Run for your life! But his feet were glued to the ground and he remained frozen.

"Ronald Weasley?" purred a Death Squad member. "Stay where you are, boy. You are under sentence of death according to our laws. Your father was caught smuggling contraband items to Muggles and disregarding Law Five—no traffic or relationship with Muggles or Mudbloods of any kind. And thus his life and family's lives are forfeit."

The rough gravelly voice broke through Ron's immobility. Suddenly he discovered that he really didn't want to die yet, and recalled Fred's spell just as another member of the strike force released a Blasting Curse.

Replicas of Ron suddenly appeared all over and Ron threw himself to the ground and rolled.

The Blasting Curse took out several fake Rons and left the real one somewhat stunned, lying a few feet away in a juniper bush.

"Get up! Hurry!" a strange girl's voice hissed in his ear.

For one instant he thought it was Ginny, that maybe she too had escaped, but no, when he looked up he saw an unfamiliar face. The girl looked to be about his age, she had long curling hair of a deep chestnut shade and dark eyes with flecks of amber in them. She was wearing a thin charcoal gray jumpsuit and a long hooded cloak. "Huh? Who are you?"

"Introductions later, ginger hair. Move, before you end up joining the rest of your family. Come on!" She held out her hand.

Ron took it, and it was then he saw the tattoo upon her wrist. It was a single flame that shifted and glowed when she moved. "You . . .you're one of Them! A Spark."

She rolled her eyes. "Talk later, Mr. Obvious! Follow me." She drew back into the thick foliage, dragging him with her. "Hurry! Your spell and Harry's distraction can only last so long."

Ron wanted badly to ask who the hell Harry was, but shut his mouth at another glare and concentrated upon following her through the thick hedges. She moved like a spirit, while he blundered about like a clumsy puppy, tripping over every stray branch and rock. His carryall bounced upon his back like a ton of bricks. Suddenly, his rescuer turned on him.

"Give me that!" She snatched the carryall from him and slung it over her shoulder. Then she began to run.

As Ron quickened his steps, he heard several explosions behind him and swearing and yelling. He glanced back and saw billows of colored smoke rising up, and felt the earth shake with some kind of bomb or something. "What the bloody hell was that?"

"That was our distraction." The girl answered, not bothering to look back. "Hurry! We have to be at the rendezvous point at 17:00."

"Say what?"

"Five o'clock! Don't you know how to tell time?" she hissed, exasperated.

"Not like that! What happens at five o'clock?"

"Something very good if we get there on time. Otherwise, something very bad." She glanced back once and muttered, "For Merlin's sake, Harry, quit monkeying around and leave them be."

"What's that smoke?" Ron asked, coughing.

"It's a gaseous form of a Nerve Freeze potion," the girl answered. "Harry used a sort of smart bomb to encapsulate it and then threw it at the Death Squad."

"Your friend has access to bombs?" Ron gasped, wondering how in hell she managed to glide through the damn thickets without getting caught on every branch and thorn bush. They were deep within the wild hedge that surrounded the Weasley property. "But . . .only the Order has the right to use them!"

"My friend makes the bombs. He's a technomancer," she said quietly. "No more questions, just follow. We're running out of time. It's quarter to five."

A technomancer! Ron thought in amazement. That was among the rarest of Talents, when the Order had first taken over, they had done their best to stomp all the Talented wizards into the dirt, literally. Any Seers left worked for them, and the same with firecasters, stormcallers, and the like. Ron had thought the technomancers extinct, like Aurors and justice. A technomancer was a wizard who could actually combine magic and technology and create things never seen before, like magical smart bombs. It required a special sort of person, one able to live in both the Muggle and wizarding worlds and move between them easily. Arthur had a bit of the Talent in him, though not enough to be classed as a full technomancer, it was how he could repair Muggle toasters and such without a fuss.

He recalled his father happily puttering about in his shed, fixing this and that, the counters a mess of mismatched wires and gadgets that somehow made sense to Arthur but no one else. Ron felt tears sting his eyes and as he blinked them away, determined not to fall apart, he caught a glimpse of a vine slithering from the girl's path and a thick stand of brush parting before her like a curtain being opened. Huh? Those branches and that vine . . .they moved away for her . . .like they were commanded or something. Maybe she has the geomancer Talent?

A geomancer had a link with the earth, and could manipulate it and use it for healing and defense. The more he observed, the more he thought he was right. He took a quick glance over his shoulder. The smoke from the Nerve Freeze Elixir bombs was still hovering thickly in the air. Ron knew that those who had breathed in even a tiny bit of the gas were on the ground, their nerves locked in a frozen spasm, helpless, and maybe even dying. If they continued to breathe the gas, their lungs would seize up and once that happened . . .goodbye Death Squad. It was not a nice way to die, but Ron couldn't care less. These were the same wizards who had destroyed his home and family.

Suddenly, they broke into a clearing, and the girl came to a stop. She gave herself a few minutes to recover, leaning over with her hands on her knees. When she could breathe decently again, she straightened and looked upwards, towards the sky. "We made it! They should be here very soon." She checked her watch again. "Where are you, Harry?"

Before Ron could ask who "they" was, there came a loud thump and some rustling. Then a smallish boy with a shock of dark hair that stuck up and bright green eyes wearing a pair of spectacles that seemed to glimmer strode through the trees and into the clearing. He was wearing jeans and a green shirt that matched his eyes and there were big black boots with turned down cuffs on his feet. "Sorry I'm late, 'Mione. I still haven't gotten the hang of these seven league boots."

"I told you, you should have practiced last week."

He shrugged, swirling his dark cloak about him. He had a few more oddly shaped metal balls that blinked off and on upon his belt. "They did what they were supposed to." He turned to Ron. "Hello. You must be Ron Weasley. I'm Harry." He held out a hand for Ron to shake.

"You know who I am?" Ron squeaked.

"Sure. Your family was the only one scheduled for a Reaping today. It's too bad we found out too late to save the rest of you." Harry said regretfully.

Ron simply nodded. The pain was too deep for words.

Suddenly there came a gust of wind that rattled the tree branches and Ron looked up and saw skeletal black bat-winged horses descending from the sky "Thestrals!" he exclaimed, then buried his face in his hands. Thestrals could only be seen by those who had known death, and Ron had looked upon the ashes of his family. Each thestral was outfitted with a saddle and bridle.

"Right on time," declared the girl. She waited till the thestrals had touched down before mounting the nearest. "Come on, Ron. Mount one! We need to leave before someone realizes that the Death Squad hasn't reported in or they send another team out just in case. By the way, I'm Hermione."

Ron looked at the thestral in front of him. It seemed big and powerful.

"Here," Harry offered him a leg up.

Ron found himself aboard the skeletal horse before he knew what was happening.

"Hold tight," advised the other wizard before mounting the last thestral.

"Where are we going?" Ron called as the thestral began to beat its wings and rise into the air. He knew that he would be invisible to mostly anyone, it was part of a thestral's innate magic, to fly unseen if they willed it so.

"You'll find out when we get there." Harry called, sitting easily astride his thestral. "Just concentrate on not falling off, okay?"

Ron gulped and clung even harder to his thestral's back. He had ridden a broom before, but this was nothing like that. For one thing, the Cleansweep had never gone so fast, and for another, he had never been so high either. He could hardly see the ground.

The wind trailed icy fingers down his back and he felt his fingers go numb from cold. He wished he had gloves on like Harry did. Or Hermione. But despite the discomfort, Ron found the ride exhilarating. If he hadn't been overwhelmed by the tragedy that had occurred, he would have been smiling as the thestral looped and dove, making the wind sing through his sweat-dampened hair.

The ride seemed to go on forever, leaving Ron plenty of time to think about his rescuers, who were undoubtedly Sparks, members of a secret resistance group his parents used to mention in whispers late at night. Ron used to think they were partially make-believe, the kind of thing parents invented to give their children hope. But he had seen for himself the skin-shifting tattoo on Hermione. The flame was a symbol of the Resistance. Out of the ashes, a spark shall arise, like a phoenix reborn, for hope springs eternal. Ron had heard that phrase, that forbidden slogan, more than once growing up. It was the creed of the Resistance, those few wizards who still dared to fight against the New Order and work to cast down Lord Voldemort. But it had never seemed quite real to him till now.

What had been real were the bread lines, the food shortages, going hungry some nights because there was never enough to go around. Trading his mum's thread and clothes at the market for luxury items, like ink and parchment and quills, a pair of shoes that actually fit, meat that wasn't all gristle, books that had been banned, like The House Witch's Book of Useful Charms, or Hogwarts: A History or Advanced Potions. If the Sparks were mentioned at all, it was in whispers after the heavy tread of the Protectors had gone past. They had been more legend and myth than anything else, sort of like the time before Lord Voldemort, when the world had been free. A time that had been before Ron was born, that his parents and Bill could remember, but he had never known.

Yet here he was, on the back of a thestral, in the company of those shadowy myths, who appeared to be kids just like him. Well, not just like him, but close enough. Hermione reminded him a bit of Ginny, and he felt pain stab him hard. He squeezed his eyes shut, but that did not keep tears from trickling down his face. They turned icy halfway down, but he did not care. He felt all frozen inside and thought for an instant about letting go. Did he really want to live now that his family was gone?

But then he recalled his mother saying once during dinner that if anything should ever happen to her or Arthur, that she wanted them to keep on living, no matter what. Because where there was life, there was hope. He took a deep breath. All right, Mum. I'll keep on going. For you. Because you would want me to.

When he opened his eyes again, he found the thestrals were circling over a large valley set deep among the high mountain peaks. A black lake brooded a few yards from a large stone ruin and a tumbledown cottage. A huge trackless forest surrounded the valley and as the thestrals descended for a landing, Ron realized where he was from the stories Molly and Arthur told about their schooldays.

As he drew closer, he could see that the stone ruins were the grave of a once magnificent castle, that had been home to the great Headmaster Dumbledore and wizarding students from all over Britain. Once, this had been a place of light and learning, of magic and life.

Until Lord Voldemort and his army had razed it to the ground.

This was what remained of the famous Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The thestrals landed lightly in the cracked courtyard, and both Harry and Hermione slid to the ground.

Ron winced and managed to get off, though he nearly fell on his bum, his legs were cramped with cold from the flight. "Is this . . .Hogwarts?"

"Home sweet home," Harry said, a small smile creasing his mouth.

Ron glanced about. "But . . .how can you live here? It's a wreck."

"Of course it is. It's been that way for over eighteen years," Hermione said. "Which is why we can live here, because everyone thinks it's deserted. They look at the ruins and think like you do."

"How else should I think?" asked Ron, nettled by her know-it-all attitude.

Hermione ignored his tone and stepped up to a partially standing archway. She touched a stone and then another and suddenly there was a grinding noise and a section of the stone courtyard slid away and revealed a large patch of darkness. "You see? No one ever thinks about what's underneath the ruins."

"Oh. It's a secret passage."

He watched as Hermione slid into the hole, then saw a light bloom out of the darkness. "A Lumos spell?"

"Yes. Are you allowed to cast one?"

"Uh, yeah." Ron fumbled for his wand. Just as he drew it out of his pocket, Harry snatched it away. "Hey! What are you—bloody hell! You just snapped my wand! What did you do that for?"

Harry tossed the pieces of the wand on the ground and stepped on them. "It's Traced. Which means you're like a beacon unless you get rid of it. We can't risk you accidentally revealing our base to them."

"Oh. You could have told me!"

"It's really hard to snap your own wand."

"But how will I cast spells now?" Ron asked. He hadn't particularly liked his wand, knowing what had been done to it, but still it had been his wand.

"You'll learn wandless magic. Or else one of us will fashion a new one." Harry replied. "Come on. Get down the ladder. We need to report in to the Phoenix."

Ron climbed down the ladder, still a bit miffed about the wand, but knowing that Harry was right. They couldn't afford to be sloppy. "Who's the Phoenix?"

"Our leader. The one who keeps us all in line and keeps us alive, for the most part. He'll tell us what you're going to do from now on. He's the one who sent us on the extraction mission." Harry explained, leading Ron down a long tunnel lit with tiny glowing globes. "Oh, by the way, my last name's Potter. I couldn't tell you before, since it's a secret."

Ron gasped. "You mean . . .you're . . .Harry Potter? But you're dead!"

Harry laughed. "That's what the Order thinks. I was supposed to die that night. But my mum got word to my uncle, her twin, and he hid me away with my aunt, well she's not really my aunt by blood, since her family adopted my mum when she was five, and she was raised Muggle. My grandmother did it to protect her, since it was too hard to hide two kids from the Death Eaters back then. She was marked for death, you see, for marrying a Muggle. Anyway, Aunt Petunia hid me for awhile, in Surrey, with her family, till my uncle returned and took me away with him. Here, to the ruins of Hogwarts. This is the only home I've ever known, or that I can remember, at least."

"But then how come the Order thinks you died?"

"Because my uncle put a doppelganger in my crib and when Lord Voldemort sent his Dragon Corps to fire the house, it burned right along with the bodies of my parents."

"Oh. That's like what they did to . . .my house." Ron said, trying to keep a quiver from his voice.

"In a way. Only my parents died dueling him and I was too little to remember them. But you . . . you'll always remember." Harry said sympathetically.

They said nothing more after that, just continued walking down the maze of tunnels that lay beneath the school.

Behind them, the secret entrance shut itself with a snap, leaving no trace of anything alive within the ruins.